Have You Seen Grandpa Lately?

Chapter One: Passover Eve, 2019

Families in holiday clothing walked towards their cars. Tel Aviv's side streets sent their stillness to the air and a single citron tree spread a gentle blossom scent.

"Say, how do you live in this city?" Shmulik's nasal voice startled Yoni from his thoughts about his grandfather. "Geez, I don't get you. What do you see here? All the buildings are old... look! You're probably paying like my mortgage on the house to get the rundown fifty meters I saw".

"Sixty meters," Yoni corrected. "I'm looking for a new place now. They're raising the rent by 2500 shekels. The landlord's grandson plans to ruin the building and to expedite things he's pushing us all to leave."

"You're looking for a new place again?! I don't get what keeps you in this city. Either buildings are falling apart or they're getting ruined and replaced by towers."

"Listen, tell Michal to ask mom for the exact address." Yoni pulled out the key from the motorbike.

"You don't remember where your grandfather lives?" Asked Shmulik.

"Just ask."

The adjacent buildings made him confused. Some were renovated, rose with the years and stretched to the sides with green lush terraces.

The last time he visited the apartment was a few years back, when his grandfather received the Filipina caregiver and his mom asked him to swing by and make sure the two got along. His grandfather was edgy and detached, the Filipina sat in her room, silent and alert. His mother was away on a long trip and he didn't want to worry her. With a short call he assured her that the two are perfectly fine and that sealed the deal for all sides.

Shmulik's voice woke him up out of his memory.

"Here, she replied. 'Rashi 43, flat no. 5, no intercom or a lock'. Well that's great, later on you all wonder where he is and why he's not answering. Many things could happen at a building where anyone can easily enter. Just don't be surprised later on."

Yoni half listened to his brother-in-law while he tried to take off a card that stuck to the bottom of his flip flop. A young woman gazed at him from there with seductive eyes.

"He's not answering my mom, Shmulik. I haven't talked to him for a while. Just the typical 'hi-bye' at holiday dinners."

"No, you realize we're gonna see a dead body in a second?" Shmulik grabbed his head, surprised each time to realize his hair was gone.

"We'll use the key, see what we'll see and get out," said Yoni in a practical tone and looked for the key in his jeans pockets. The metal rattle of the key chain and the single coins in his pocket threatened to wake the building out of its stagnation.

His broad shoulders melted and stretched downwards due to the heavy family burden, even before the holiday dinner began. 'How's work? What about that promotion? Where do you see yourself in a few years?' His dad had pushed him to study economics as if it was a guarantee for anything. 'You can't work in carpentry at age 30, you gotta understand,' he kept saying. In the end, thanks to his friends from reserve duty, he joined an investment house. He arrived each morning, sat in front of the computer, and stared at his reflection on the black screen before he woke them both up.

Twice a year he was obliged to attend family meals. From the rest he easily got away, his mom let him slide. She didn't have time to pressure him with all her work trips abroad. But on Passover and Rosh Hashanah she needed everyone to attend.

The brothers-in-law advanced down the street towards the building. The long wet hair of a girl who passed them on the curve, holding a motorbike helmet, drew Yoni by his nose. A citron scented shampoo merged with the blossom smell coming up from the tree in the yard. He thought of the empty shampoo bottle Sigal had left in his apartment. It had been standing there for three weeks now. Other girls walked in and out of the shower and still, that bottle stared at him, orphaned.

Yoni followed the girl with his eyes and tried to make eye contact. Shmulik followed him and wondered how many women he had slept with this month.

"You should have visited more often," he threw at him.

The girl climbed on the motorbike, and drove away. Yoni kept his eyes on her.

The sidewalk leading to the building was dark. Shmulik stood behind Yoni, lifted his phone and turned on the flashlight.

"Come on! You're blinding me with these lights!" Yoni pushed down Shmulik's hand.

The rusty building door stood in front of him, at its center was a dark glass panel with shaky hinges.

They walked up the stairs. Yoni led the way, the apartment key in his hand. A wooden sign with engraved letters of the family name "Levinger" hung on the door.

"Look, this feels bad," Shmulik almost whispered. "I can smell the decay from here. How long did you wait? The Filipina didn't answer?"

"I have no clue," Yoni replied out loud. "Mom was at a convention and then they went on a cruise. She just told me to pick him up for the holiday."

"Right! So she and Moti weren't at home for a month! No one spoke with him all this time? What's the deal with your fucked up family?!"

"Lower your voice. Most families are fucked up, except for your well organized family. I'm going in. You might want to cover your nose and mouth, just in case." To his surprise, the key turned easily in the knob.

A rotten smell rose up from the apartment.

Yoni stood at the hall and searched for his grandfather. Suddenly, a wave of familiar smell replaced the odor and melted the cobwebs off his memory. He heard the flip flops running through the stairs during the summer holidays, and saw the neighbors' kids hiding in the hallway. Here he is standing on a tall stool in the kitchen and the tempting smell of cookies bursts out of the oven. Here he is sitting in the dining room next to the table while his grandfather solves crosswords. In the planter behind the dark window the geranium blooms.

On a shelf in the living room he saw a wooden work he made as a kid. His grandmother insisted on exhibiting it. He was thrilled by this gesture. His mom never showed his works and drawings and prefered to stack up the shelves with souvenirs from her trips around the world, wooden engraved sculptures and traditional dolls.

His grandfather's heavy coat hung in the corridor. He always hid there when Michal looked for him, in each pocket he would stash a treat in case it would take her long to find him. In the meantime, their grandmother sat in her armchair and read.

During her Shiva, visitors who came to pay their condolences sat on her armchair and he saw how his grandfather cringed in the corner, till one night he moved the armchair to their bedroom and locked the room.

His grandfather's books, laying in different spots of the house, reminded him of the library he planned on building for him.

Yoni stood in the hall and glued together faded pieces of their family past. Shmulik's strong sniff pulled him back to the present, to the visit's aim.

The two walked slowly to the depths of the house. The rotten stuffed smell grew stronger. Yoni's flip flops drew him to the bedroom and Shmulik was dragged behind him.

Yoni shoved the wooden door.

An awful smell covered them both.

They covered their noses. Shmulik started to shiver uncontrollably.

Yoni covered his mouth and walked toward the bed.

He lifted the blanket slowly and unveiled long dark pajamas, brand new with a buttoned upper part. The pajamas were neatly folded.

The closet's door was slightly open and he could see the orderly shelves. If only he could walk through it to a simpler place, like in the book he loved as a child, without all the drama that rose around him.

"There's nothing here," he said and turned to Shmulik, who was kneeling on the floor and fighting his stomach. Before he realized what was happening, Shmulik ran to the toilet and vomited.

Wind entered through the window and blew away a trail of gray feathers which piled on a broken shutter. Yoni followed them with his eyes.

On the other side of the bed, on the floor, he noticed a few dead doves.